never surprising one from behind.
It looked higher from atop the horse than he’d assumed it would. That was a long fall to the ground. He guided the horse about, and after a short time, he managed to pull up beside Natam on purpose. The long-faced bridgeman held his reins as if they were precious gemstones, afraid to yank them or direct his horse.
“Can’t believe people ride these things on storming purpose,” Natam said. He had a rural Alethi accent, his words bluntly clipped, like he was biting them off before he’d quite finished them. “I mean, we ain’t moving any faster than walking, right?”
Again, Kaladin remembered the image of that charging mounted Shardbearer from long ago. Yes, Kaladin could see the reason for horses. Sitting up higher made it easier to strike with power, and the size of the horse—its bulk and momentum—frightened soldiers on foot and sent them scattering.
“I think most go faster than these,” Kaladin said. “I’d bet they gave us the old horses to practice on.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Natam said. “It’s warm. Didn’t expect that. I’ve ridden chulls before. This thing shouldn’t be so . . . warm. Hard to feel like this thing is worth as much as it is. It’s like I’m riding about on a pile of emerald broams.” He hesitated, glancing backward. “Only, emeralds’ backsides ain’t nearly so busy . . .”
“Natam,” Kaladin asked. “Do you remember much about the day when someone tried to kill the king?”
“Oh, sure,” Natam said. “I was with the guys who ran out there and found him flapping in the wind, like the Stormfather’s own ears.”
Kaladin smiled. Once, this man would barely say two sentences together, instead always staring at the ground, somber. Used up by his time as a bridgeman. These last few weeks had been good for Natam. Good for them all.
“Before the storm that night,” Kaladin said. “Was anyone out on the balcony? Any servants you didn’t recognize? Any soldiers who weren’t from the King’s Guard?”
“No servants that I recall,” Natam said, squinting. The once-farmer got a pensive look on his face. “I guarded the king all day, sir, with the King’s Guard. Ain’t nothing standing out to me. I— Whoa!” His horse had suddenly picked up speed, outpacing Kaladin’s.
“Think about it!” Kaladin called to him. “See what you can remember!”
Natam nodded, still holding his reins like they were glass, refusing to pull them tight or steer the horse. Kaladin shook his head.
A small horse galloped past him. In the air. Made of light. Syl giggled, changing shape and spinning around as a ribbon of light before settling on the neck of Kaladin’s horse, just in front of him.
She lounged back, grinning, then frowned at his expression. “You’re not enjoying yourself,” Syl said.
“You’re starting to sound a lot like my mother.”
“Captivating?” Syl said. “Amazing, witty, meaningful?”
“Repetitive.”
“Captivating?” Syl said. “Amazing, witty, meaningful?”
“Very funny.”
“Says the man not laughing,” she replied, folding her arms. “All right, so what is drearifying you today?”
“Drearifying?” Kaladin frowned. “Is that a word?”
“You don’t know?”
He shook his head.
“Yes,” Syl said solemnly. “Yes, it absolutely is.”
“Something’s off,” he said. “About the conversation I just had with Natam.” He tugged on the reins, stopping the horse from trying to bend down and nibble at grass again. The thing was very focused.
“What did you talk about?”
“The assassination attempt,” Kaladin said, narrowing his eyes. “And if he’d seen anyone before the . . .” He paused. “Before the storm.”
He looked down and met Syl’s eyes.
“The storm itself would have blown down the railing,” Kaladin said.
“Bending it!” Syl said, standing up and grinning. “Ooohhh . . .”
“It was cut clean through, the mortar on the bottom chipped away,” Kaladin continued. “I’ll bet the force of the winds was easily equal to the weight the king put on it.”
“So the sabotage must have happened after the storm,” Syl said.
A much narrower time frame. Kaladin turned his horse toward where Natam was riding. Unfortunately, catching up wasn’t easy. Natam was moving at a trot, much to his obvious dismay, and Kaladin couldn’t get his mount to go faster.
“Having trouble, bridgeboy?” Adolin asked, trotting up.
Kaladin glanced at the princeling. Stormfather, but it was difficult not to feel tiny when riding beside that monster of Adolin’s. Kaladin tried to kick his horse faster. She kept clopping along at her one speed, walking around the circle here that was a kind of running track for horses.
“Spray might have been fast during her youth,” Adolin said, nodding at Kaladin’s mount, “but that was